


Verbena

by bioloyg



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Future, Captain America Sam Wilson, Dom Bucky Barnes, Dom/sub Undertones, Edging, Established Relationship, M/M, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Samtember, Sub Sam Wilson, idk man, it's a little more overt than that but not very? whatever, ummm there's no penetration so I'm sorry in advance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-25
Updated: 2016-09-25
Packaged: 2018-08-17 04:43:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8130859
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bioloyg/pseuds/bioloyg
Summary: Sam is feeling a little self-conscious so Bucky helps him unwind.~“Look at yourself in the mirror,” Bucky gently commands. “Look at all your scars, how much pain you’ve endured for this country. As a soldier, as the Falcon, and as Captain America.”Sam does as he’s told, lingers on the slanted cut from when he was stabbed, the slight indentation from when he was shot, and so many others. When he’s finished he looks up at Bucky for direction. For some sort of answer.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I don't have much to say because I very rarely write PWP and I never know how to feel about it. That being said, Sam deserves love and to be edged until he cries. I didn't make him cry, but someone should write that.  
> Side note.... [watch this video](http://www.pornhub.com/view_video.php?viewkey=1392543666) of a guy getting edged.
> 
> unbeta'd! I hope you enjoy

Sam stands in front of the full length mirror opposite the bed and tugs at his tie, adjusting and retying it to see if a different style knot will mysteriously make it look better. Nothing he has seems appropriate for this stupid press conference, and what he’s tried on so far has only served to annoy him. One of the shirts he put on made the bruises on his face stand out, the next made him look sickly. This lavender one looks fine, surprisingly, but he doesn’t have the right tie for it. And lord knows Bucky doesn’t own a single tie Sam can borrow. At least not anymore.

With a groan, Sam undoes the tie and throws it across the room toward his closet where six shirts, another pair of pants, and four ties lay strewn about. When he turns back to the mirror he startles. There’s something like a ghost staring at Sam’s reflection.

“How’s it going?” Bucky asks as he pushes himself off the doorframe. His body moves past the range of the mirror, but Sam turns to face him.

“Not great,” Sam admits with a sigh. “I’m trying to find something to wear for that press conference.”

Bucky’s eyebrows fall into a neat line across his forehead. “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing? It looks fine.”

Sam rolls his eyes. “Of course _you_ think it looks fine.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” Sam replies shortly as he turns back to the mirror. “I need a tie with this shirt. If I don’t make a good impression on the press then –”

Bucky waves a hand through the air. “Whoa, whoa, whoa. Slow down.” He stands just behind Sam and purses his lips together in thought before saying, “You’ve already made a good impression. They love you, Sam, almost everyone does. You could wear a banana suit and they’d still eat up every word you said.”

Sam closes his eyes and lets out a sharp breath. “That’s not what I _meant_. I can’t go out there in jeans and a t-shirt for my first press conference as _Captain America_. They’re just waiting to tear me down a peg. You think half these people want a black man to be their symbol of America? _No_. I need to look – _ugh_ , better than _this_ that’s for sure.”

He opens his eyes and a scowl settles itself heavily on his face. “This bruise isn’t helping either. All they’re gonna see is someone weak with no powers.” Sam lets his fingers ghost just beneath the crescent shaped bruise that lines his eye socket.

Bucky takes that same hand before it falls away, threading their fingers together, and fits himself against Sam’s back. He kisses Sam’s neck once and rests his chin on Sam’s shoulder as he lets out a deep breath. “I’m going to say something, and I need you to let me finish.”

“No promises.”

Sam can feel the way Bucky smiles against his skin. “Who gives a shit what they think?”

“ _Me_ ,” Sam answers, exasperated. He thought that much was obvious.

Bucky lifts his head up and looks at Sam in the mirror. “Why? If I had asked you that same question five years ago you would’ve told me no one cared, especially not you. You of all people know their perceptions are skewed. They. don’t. matter. _You_ do.” He places a gentle kiss on Sam’s cheek and says, “But this isn’t about them or what they think, is it? It’s about what you think.”

Sam opens his mouth, ready to be contrary, but it falls shut and he looks away. He twists his lips to one side and then looks at Bucky in the mirror again. “Maybe.”

“What do you need?” Bucky asks quietly. “You need me to remind you of how perfect you are? How beautiful everyone thinks you are, how amazing everything you do is?” Bucky’s hands find their way to Sam’s hips as he leans in to whisper. “Tell me what you need.”

There’s a soft thrumming that builds in Sam’s core as the command falls from Bucky’s mouth. His eyes fall shut as Bucky’s lips make their way up the length of his neck, from the collar bone to just beneath Sam’s ear.

When Sam doesn’t reply Bucky backs away, leaving Sam’s neck cold and neglected, and says, “Tell me, Sam,” as one hand slides its way up the lavender button up.

“I want…”

Bucky’s left hand tightens on Sam’s hip ever so slightly, and his right unbuttons the top button of Sam’s shirt. “You want what?” His hand continues downward slowly, one button after another until he can put his hand in Sam’s shirt. He rubs the pads of his fingers across Sam’s nipples.

Sam’s breath hitches and all he can think about is kissing Bucky, feeling loved in a way that asks very few questions of him. “You. Everything you said,” Sam finally answers. Sometimes he does need a reminder, if only to get himself out of his head about every little imperfection he possesses. And only because Bucky never overdoes it.

Bucky takes his hand from inside of Sam’s shirt and puts a small amount of space between them. “Okay.” He looks at Sam in the mirror and says, “Hands at your side.”

Sam takes a deep breath and does as he’s told. He never breaks eye contact with Bucky.

“Tell me your safe word.”

Sam wets his lips. “Verbena.” In any other context the word seems silly, but it holds enough meaning for Sam that he could think of no other word to use for his safety.

“Good,” Bucky says, and Sam feels himself preen the slightest bit. Bucky steps forward again, but he’s not fitted against Sam’s back like he was before. Only close enough that Sam can feel the heat radiating off his body. “Do you want me to take off your shirt?”

“Yes please.”

Bucky undoes the remaining buttons and brings his hands up to Sam’s shoulders, gently pushing the fabric back. His metal hand sends a cascade of goosebumps down Sam’s arm. “Look at yourself in the mirror,” Bucky gently commands. “Look at all your scars, how much pain you’ve endured for this country. As a soldier, as the Falcon, and as Captain America.”

Sam does as he’s told, lingers on the slanted cut from when he was stabbed, the slight indentation from when he was shot, and so many others. When he’s finished he looks up at Bucky for direction. For some sort of answer.

“You are so much more than their approval,” Buck says. “I want you to know that.” With that, Bucky casts the button up to the side. He glances at it with a smirk and says, “As nice as that looked on you, I like it better on the floor.”

Sam lets out an amused groan. “You’re so corny.”

Bucky molds himself against Sam’s back again and murmurs, “Still make you hot though,” as he runs his hand across the bottom of Sam’s stomach. The muscles there twitch in anticipation, but Bucky’s hand is gone just as soon as it was there. Instead his hands find their way to Sam’s belt and remove it, slide it from each loop in a menacingly drawn out motion.

Once that’s gone too, Bucky says, “Tell me what you want again.”

“ _You_ ,” Sam repeats earnestly.

“Be more specific.”

Sam looks at Bucky’s reflection; the way they look together. The contrast between their personalities and shape. Bucky’s frame, broadened by a super serum, and his own, toughened through hard work and dedication. He wants to test the resistance between them, see how strong he is.

“Touch me,” Sam says.

Bucky rests his hands on Sam’s hips. “How and where?”

“Everywhere.” Sam runs his teeth over his bottom lip as he carefully chooses his words. “I want you to make me come. Make me wait.”

“There you go,” Bucky says. He unbuttons Sam’s slacks. “I think we should stay right here, what do you think?”

Sam takes a deep breath and holds it in for a moment. They’ve only done this once before, and it takes a lot for Sam to continuously watch himself, but… he thinks he needs it today. So, Sam says, “I think we should too.”

“Are you sure?” Bucky asks before they move forward.

“Yes,” Sam answers. He sets his jaw and looks at Bucky. “Positive.”

Bucky smiles. “Good.”

Not long after, Sam stands in front of the mirror naked with his dick in his hand, waiting. He can feel Bucky watching him even though his eyes are closed, knows Bucky is taking in every piece of him. His voice brings Sam out of his momentary trance as he says, “Stroke yourself.”

Sam’s hand, already slicked with lube, works up and down the shaft. He catches Bucky’s eyes in the mirror but Bucky shakes his head slightly and says, “Look at yourself.”

After a split moment of hesitation, Sam looks himself in the eye as he slides his hand up and down his cock. He takes in his full lips, his goatee that he decides he needs to trim, and the sharp edges of his cheekbones everyone comments on. He’s lost in the darkness of his own eyes when Bucky says, “Faster.”

He speeds up accordingly and catches the way his chest hitches as his fingers skim the head of his cock. Pleasure quickly builds from the base up and Sam slows, unwilling to disappoint Bucky or himself.

“ _Ah_ ,” Bucky says, his tone light but stern. “Don’t slow down. I know you can hold on.”

Sam swallows and nods. Instead of the warm, slick drag of his hand up and down his dick, he focuses on how taught his muscles are. How the ones in his thighs strain. He widens his stance as if that will steady him and clenches his teeth, trying to will his impending orgasm into submission. Keep it at bay.

“Look at you,” Bucky hums approvingly as he watches. “You’re doing so well for me. I love the way you look when you touch yourself. So in control.”

It’s a lot, hearing Bucky, feeling _and_ looking at himself. Finally, just as Sam feels like he’s stretched so far he might snap, Bucky says, “Stop. Hands at your side.”

A breath rushes out of Sam’s lungs. His dick is achingly hard and dripping with precome. Hungry for attention now that his hand is gone. It curves slightly toward the left and rests against the lower portion of his stomach, a modest length, neither large nor small. Sam wants to see it in Bucky’s hands, wants Bucky to touch him.

He looks up just as Bucky takes off his own shirt. His eyes follow what lines he can see, like the scarring around Bucky’s left shoulder. They fit together well despite their differing beginnings.

Bucky catches Sam watching and smirks. He tugs Sam backward and against him, kisses his neck. For a moment he just holds Sam as he kisses him, and everything narrows down to their every point of contact. How Bucky’s lips drag against his skin, the slight roughness of his right hand, and the smooth metal of his left. Sam turns his head over his shoulder when Bucky’s kiss reaches his chin, and Bucky takes the hint, joining their lips. He licks his way into Sam’s mouth, but he doesn’t let Sam turn around, and he breaks the kiss after a moment.

“Face the mirror,” he says, but his voice is gravelly and Sam can tell he’s just as affected by all of this as he is.

“Yes, sir.” He looks at Bucky in the mirror and hopes his smile says as much. It must because Bucky nips at his shoulder. His smug air lasts all of two seconds, crumbling when Bucky takes him in hand and strokes him once, firmly.

A hollowed out sound falls from Sam’s lips, but Bucky hushes him and says, “I know how strong you are, so I’m not going to hold back. I’ve seen how long you can last in a fight, how fast and critical you are even in the heat of a battle. I want you to use that control here.”

Sam nods. All he wants is for Bucky to keep touching him. And Bucky does, stroking Sam quick and hard at first, then slow and barely there, alternating. Whenever he can see that Sam is close he slides his hand up Sam’s dick and off, and after a moments delay slides his hand back into place.

It gets to the point where every touch makes Sam feel the same. Like he’s going to burst from the seams and find himself looking like the very butterflies taking up residence in his core. When he closes his eyes there’s nothing but bright whiteness behind his eyelids, and it only seems to get brighter the closer to the brink Sam gets.

Every word that falls from Bucky’s lips hits Sam like a freight train. “You’re doing so well,” and “God, you’re beautiful, Sam. I never want you to doubt that.”

All of it builds and builds and _builds_ until finally Sam can’t take it. “Please let me come,” he begs. He hadn’t realized how hoarse his voice was until then, or how much noise he must’ve been making for it to get to that point.

“Not yet,” Bucky replies. He stops his motion at the tip of Sam’s cock and rubs his thumb over the slit so slowly Sam sees and feels sparks. He groans in response to the touch and thrusts his hips forward, following the feeling, but Bucky’s left hand holds him back. “Hold on.”

Bucky releases Sam and turns him around. “I want you to look at me for this,” he says.

He leaves a gentle kiss on Sam’s lips and then fists Sam’s cock. His pace is steady and comfortable at first, though Sam is still close to the brink. “There is _no one_ on this earth as deserving of the title of Captain America as you.”

As Bucky focuses his attention on the tip of Sam’s cock he says, “And if anyone ever makes you feel otherwise, tell me,” and then he picks up the pace, the severity of his words translating into that speed. “You know you earned the title of Captain America fair and square, and so does everyone else.”

Sam nods, unable to trust himself to speak at the moment given how shallow his breaths have become. Bucky works past the silence and tightens his grip ever so slightly as he says, “And no matter what you wear, people will think whatever they want to think. So if you want to wear those slacks and that purple shirt, wear it, but wear it because it’s what _you_ want. Not because it’s what you think _they_ want. Got it?”

Sam falls forward and rests his head on Bucky’s shoulder. His voice shows the tension all of his muscles are weathering. “Yes.”

“Look at me,” Bucky urges. As soon as Sam looks up Bucky slots their mouths together, kisses him sweet and unhurried. The feeling is mismatched, counterpoint to the motion of his hand. His last kiss is rough and insistent though, and when he backs away he says, “Come for me.”

Relief pours out of Sam in waves at the command, and he holds onto Bucky as he does, his whole body shivering as every bit of anticipation and restraint frees itself. A long drawn out moan falls into what little space is between them, almost as drawn out as his orgasm feels, but only half as loud as the thrum in Sam’s veins.

Everything after that is inconsequential, a blur almost. When he snaps out of that haze he finds himself in their bed cleaned up, with Bucky wrapped around him. It’s always funny to Sam when he finds his way out of subspace to find Bucky curled up behind him. He knows Bucky prefers to be the little spoon. It makes him appreciate it all the more, especially because he needs the safety that comes with being surrounded by Bucky’s larger frame.

Sam lets out a shallow sigh and turns his head over his shoulder. “Thank you.”

Bucky kisses his shoulder. “Anytime.”

“How are you?” Sam asks. He knows Bucky didn’t get off.

“I’m fine,” Bucky says, knowing what Sam is getting at. “That was about you.”

Sam settles himself against Bucky’s chest and says, “I can make it about you in an hour.”

Bucky laughs. “Don’t you have a press conference to get ready for?”

Sam shrugs. “Someone told me I didn’t have to impress them. I’m not going to bend over backwards to look perfect.”

“You always look perfect anyway,” Bucky says.

Sam snorts and looks over his shoulder. “You’re extremely biased.”

“I beg to differ.”

“You beg huh?” Sam says with a mischievous grin.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Careful there, you were begging not more than fifteen minutes ago.”

“I’m neither ashamed nor embarrassed. I know what I want.”

“Yeah you do,” he says with a contented sigh.

“What I want right now,” Sam says as he picks up again, “Is to stay in bed with my husband.”

“I want that too,” Bucky says. “How long do you have until the meeting?”

Sam lifts his head up and looks at the clock. “Mm, hour and a half.”

“Good, then you can stay in bed with me for another twenty minutes.” His arms tighten around Sam’s middle like that’s already settled. Sam allows it and finds a more comfortable position, letting his eyes fall shut.

He’s totally wearing jeans and a t-shirt to that press conference. And he’s gonna make it look _good_.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you so much for reading! I hope you liked it.  
> come find me on tumblr at my main @bioloyg or my marvel side blog @zamnwilson


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